Wherever You Will Go
by Apple Juice Rhys
Summary: There are some demons from our past which toil unceasingly in our lives, casting their shadows onto what would otherwise be life renewed. Often, they are conquerable, yet there are times in which the power of love must be called upon to arise triumphantly


Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics to _Wherever You Will Go_; The Calling does. And Spot Conlon does not belong to me either…because that would just be odd…

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to my mom, who passed away this day (06/22) seven years ago but who I like to remember through poetry and stories. This is my first _Newsies_ fic, but I hope you take well to my writing. And even if you don't, thanks for reading it nonetheless. _Smiles_. Ah yes, and it is a song fic I suppose you can say.

**_Wherever You Will Go_**

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_So lately, been wondering_

_Who will be there to take my place?_

_When I'm gone, you'll need love_

_To light the shadows on your face._

            His hands were smeared with the filth of ink, branding him outwardly with the pungent blemish of the lower class; his inward self had long ago been scarred by past tribulations, barely a soul was there left within his daily decaying shell. Under the tattered cabby hat he donned complete with loose threads and the stench of smoke, his hair was a matted array of black locks robbed of their sheen as they drooped like wilting blades of grass past eyes void of empathy. These same irises had once looked upon the earth as would a child, had once maintained in their oceanic blue shades a zealous fire yearning to _live_.

            Josef heaved a sigh and continued his tread through the decrepit cobblestone streets of the notorious Brooklyn, the hell that had become his heaven when his love had been encased by death. Always so downcast were his features, as if the shadowy countenance of some burden forever shone darkness upon him. He barely spoke a word to anyone; it was solely through silence that he found repose and solely through self-infliction that he found redemption.

_If a great wave should fall,_

_And fall upon us all_

_Then between the sand and stone_

_Could you make it on your own?_

            He could see the towering iron gates from a block away, so ominous were their formations, like immortal sentinels cast in stone, cursed to immobility until Judgment Day. Seeing the familiar sights awakened within him a nauseous feeling he could scarcely stifle. The memories were too overwhelming for his youth to bear; they were the crown of thorns piercing against his conscious every minute of his waking life. He bit his bottom lip until dots of blood appeared like red leprosy on the flesh and grasped the gates with a shaking hand as he was thrust into remembrances.

_            Their leader cocked his head to one side, his face distorted into something akin to mockery, if not tyranny. His mouth was upturned into a sly, brash smirk that accented him like a dagger would an assassin. His sandy blonde hair flopped across his forehead once before he brought a hand to comb it back while his other free fingers seized the cane hanging from his belt loop. He took one step forward as he tapped the gold crest of the would-be weapon against his lips as if in thought; it was, of course, a farcical way of stalling the punishment bound to befall his victim. _

_            "You're not like all my other Brooky's, ya know. I can't afford to have my own newsies goin' soft like this. You're just…too different, and I don't like it. Tell ya ma she should've raised a pansy daughter if her kid only ended up turning out like you." He naturally basked in the laughter of his lackeys. It was amazing how the bricks establishing his skyscraping legacy were constructed by the very ones he daily harmed. _

_            "I'd be more than happy to tell her that for you," Josef said as calmly as his temperament permitted. He was no match for the great Spot Conlon; he'd known that from day one. There was no need to incite a riot when he hadn't the physicality to back up the curses he would otherwise spew forth. "Except she's _dead."

            _The laughter died down almost immediately. No one had expected such retaliation, though Josef knew it wasn't the great slaying of the dragon. After all, half of the boys before him were orphans just like him as well, without a family to love or a home to call their own. Spot parted his lips to concoct something witty merely to salvage his superiority, but the words evaporated from him quicker than he would've liked, and Josef's retreating figure for some reason enraged him_.

            He kicked the sand-laden grasslands of the cemetery as he proceeded through it's ambience of misery. All of Brooklyn hated him, but could he help that? Couldn't they get it through their thick skulls that perhaps he wasn't the type to socialize like a caravan harlot, or the type to macerate a 'scab' until the prey bled, and bled well? He wasn't like them; why was that so hard to understand? They found solace in their trivial pursuits, and he found it in his infatuation with a past he couldn't change. He found it with the fixation of something he'd lost…something from which he was separated by the stone walls of life and death.

_And maybe I'll find out_

_A way to make it back some day_

_To watch you, to guide you_

_Through the darkest of your days_

_If a great wave should fall_

_And fall upon us all_

_Then I hope there's someone out there_

_Who can bring me back to you_

            The grave he sought was hidden in the shade of an apple tree. He knelt upon the marble slab which designated those at peace and kissed the stone dearly, as if the means to bring back the parted could be found in such an embrace. In one hand he tightly clutched the stems of a bouquet of Spider Mums, their pastel yellow petals glistening like a painter's fine work. Laying them gently onto the grave, he softly smiled and traced anxious fingers across the engraving of the marble: Evelyn Mhari DeSilva.

            "Mama," he whispered to the wind, "you've no idea how much I need ya right now…" He curled up onto the stone slab and pressed his ear against its cool facade, as if listening for a response. The Spider Mums rustled lightly in the summer breeze beside him, and he sighed a second time while wishing they weren't his only companion.

            _"Josef," an elder voice called out as the woman toiled unceasingly in a kitchen brimming with the smells of spices and baked goods. "Josef!" Her voice carried along with it a certain accent, or perhaps it was simply the special way she pronounced his name. Nonetheless, it made him feel a hundredfold happier when the word rolled from her lips. _

_            He bounced into the room, eight-years old and more enthusiastic than ever. While he dodged this way and that between his mother's friends, who were helping her prepare a kingly meal for some reunion, he giggled and snickered and tried his very best to remain inconspicuous. But his attempts were lacking, for he soon bumped into a glass container of cinnamon, sending it crashing to the floor where it burst into shards. His eyes instantly assumed an apologetic stance as he backed away and wore the most repentant of pouts. "Mama, I'm s-sorry…"_

_            She looked at him, ready to scold as was her duty, but one look at his sorrowful face made her wish to wipe away his forthcoming tears instead. "Oh, I'll just send your father out to buy another jar, hm?" She smiled at him, wiping the dirt smudges from his cheek with her apron before starting to clean the mess._

_            "Mama?"_

_            "Yes, sweety?"_

_            "I picked these out for you in the garden." From behind his back he brought forth a collection of Spider Mums-the woman's favorite kind of flower. She took them from him with much delight and marveled at their beauty. Then, without missing a beat, she knelt down in front of her son, kissed his forehead gently, and told him the immensity of her love for him. _

            A light laugh escaped him as he recalled the memory. How such a simple moment from his childhood could be a beacon of hope during the stormiest of hardships. Sometimes, when he was skimming through the headlines of Pulitzer's papers, he would think of the stories his mother use to read him at bedtime. He'd get so lost in the daze he'd miss the opportunity to sell a morning edition to at least a dozen passing individuals.

            "I wish…I wish there was a way for you to come back…to me…"

_Run away with my heart_

_Run away with my hope_

_Run away with my love_

_I know now just quite how_

_My love and life might still go on_

_In your heart, in your mind,_

_I'll be with you for all of time_

            It could've been an eternity, the duration of his stay at the cemetery that day. He kept slipping in and out of a dream state, maybe even catching a minute nap now and again. He'd grown accustomed to living in solitude, however; he wore it like a beggar donned his tattered cloak. When his mother died, she'd run away with the totality of his being. Before her departure from life, she was his lighthouse in the midst of a tumultuous maelstrom, and now such light had been extinguished. What was he to do?

            The sound of footsteps upon fallen leaves alerted him to the presence of another. Fearing it was Spot Conlon and his conniving ways, or one of the infamous leader's mindless followers ready to make rumor out of fact, he shot up into a sitting position, resting himself back on his elbows as he tried as casually as possible to see about the impostor without appearing disturbed. He was surprised to see none other than Randy Peterson, a fellow newspaper peddler in the realms of Brooklyn. Her golden tresses of hair were tame for once, pulled back by a piece of cloth ripped from what seemed to be an old shirt. Eyes the lightest blue and smile most friendly, she leaned against the apple tree's trunk aside him and crossed her arms.

            "Babe, you do realize it's dusk, right?"

            He glanced to the skies as if by cue and nearly gasped at the sight of the drastically changed environment. Had he really spent _hours_ resting upon his mother's grave? Answering her with a shrug, he maintained an apathetic face and diverted his gaze downward.

            Randy sighed and took the moment to kneel beside him, reaching out to comb her fingers through his hair. "Sweety, ya can't keep dwelling on the past like this. It's not healthy; sooner or later, the present's going to fly right by ya. D'ya think it's what ya mother would want?" Her voice was kindly, and to show she meant no harm she nestled her head onto his shoulder to hold him in his time of mourning.

            "I can't just forget about her, Randy. I just can't act like it never happened."

            "And no one's asking ya to," was her smooth reply. "But think about it, baby." She pulled away from him and kissed his cheek softly. "These flowers were given to a grave, Josef, not a person. Ya came to the cemetery and slept with pieces of stone, not people. Sweety, I'm not trying to brush how ya feel about ya mother off, but ya have to understand where she lives now." She took one of his hands in her own and brought it to his chest with an affectionate smile. "She lives in _you_, Josef. Every time ya think about her, she comes to life in ya memories…and every time she comes to life, it's a reminder that she's at peace now and waitin' for ya on the other side of eternity."

            It had been seven years since his mother's passing, but for some reason, it wasn't until that moment that he fully understood such a revelation so clearly. She lived in _him_. Not in a coffin buried six feet underground…not in photographs entrapped by splintered frames…but in _him!_ And so much the better! In his mind, their hearts were ever intertwined. In his heart, their souls were ever tied in sweet communion. In his soul, their love was ever flourishing.

            He looked at Randy with the utmost gratitude and leaned forward to crush his lips against her own in one swift, feverish kiss which conveyed the entirety of the love he felt for _her_. "Thanks," he whispered, his forehead momentarily resting against hers as their eyes met each other. "I'll meet ya in the lodgin' house in a few minutes, kay?" He kissed her again and then watched her rise up after giving him a hug and proceed to the cemetery's exit.

            Josef stayed behind only a minute longer. "Well," spoke he to his mother, "you know I'll follow you wherever you will go. You always taught me to follow my heart anyway, and I've just realized that's where you've been residing all this time." With one last smile, he kissed each petal of the Spider Mums, caressed the marble slab of his mother's grave, and then followed after the girl who'd taught him the power of love through memories.

_If I could, then I would_

_I'll go wherever you will go_

_Way up high or down low_

_I'll go wherever you will go_

_If I could turn back time_

_I'll go wherever you will go_

_If I could make you mine_

_I'll go wherever you will go…_

Save a kitten, please review! _Smiles sweetly_.


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